The Crossroads Poem by Ruslan Kerimov
The Crossroads
A wandering pilgrim at the crossroads
Has lost his sacred way,
He’s walked so many miles so far
But he has gone astray,
These miles have made him ill and old
And made his hair gray.
My soul is like that hapless pilgrim
That roams from place to place,
Through thousands of reincarnations
It treads the earth’s face,
Directionless and ever lonely,
A spark in endless space.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/13/2024 5:44:55 PM # 1.0.0.1119
